


Waking up dead

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Death, F/F, F/M, Half-Vampires, Kinda, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: Jughead Jones is pretty sure he's woken up dead. His memories are vague, but all he can remember is Cheryl Blossoms's party. Then his memory is blank. He wakes up slumped in a bathroom tub fully clothed and numb. The sunlight is suddenly a dick and Veronica Lodge is dead in the kitchen. Or is she?  Cheryl Blossom has Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper tied up in the bedroom, and she's pretty keen on them not getting out. None of it makes sense. That is, until he starts to realize there's something very wrong with him. And when he delves into his memory, it's all because of a Sundown Party held by the Blossom's...





	Waking up dead

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came from a book I read recently and I had to make a fic out of it, ahh! :D The book is The Coldest Girl in Cold-town, but really, only the beginning is based on the book. The fic goes a completely different direction :P

 

Jughead Jones was pretty sure he had woken up dead.

When Jughead woke, he was lying in a bathtub with his legs sprawled over the edge revealing bare feet which were a strange shade of white. They definitely weren’t supposed to be that colour.

That’s what yanked him out of his stupor.  His neck was stiff, his back ached- no, _all of him ached_. But the one thing Jughead knew the second he woke up for sure, was that he was freezing cold.

His throat muttered a sort-of growl, which was uncharacteristic of him. He almost never growled. Only when there was a risk of Archie taking the last fry, or a bigger bite than needed of his burger.  When he opened his mouth to yawn, his jaw ached and there was a stinging sensation in his neck that he didn’t think Tylenol would get rid of.  Jughead didn’t think there was any word in the English language which could describe the moment more perfectly, then; “Urgh.”

His head was pressed against the cold porcelain of the tub, his raven-hair damp as it dangled in his eyes. His hat was nowhere to be found. But that’s not what was on his mind as he blinked himself properly  awake, finding himself staring dazedly at baby pink bathroom tiles twisting in vivid patterns on the ceiling. He winced at the bright lights suddenly burning into his retina’s and he shut his eyes again, grumbling out some kind of complaint. When he was sure the overhead bathroom lights weren’t going to burn him alive, he lay sprawled in the tub for a few more minutes as he tried to grasp onto memories from last night. There had been a party. That was obvious as he took in empty beer cans and glass bottles littering the bath. Were they his?

 _Whose party?_ The thought played over and over again in his sore head, like a broken record.

 After gazing lazily at the window, at the curtains as late morning sunlight filtered in bathing him in a warm glow. That was when he realized that it _hurt_. It stung his skin the way it definitely shouldn’t. Because Jughead had never been sensitive to the sun. He barely needed sunscreen. Though just _looking_ at sharp rays of sunlight as they leaked through the window made him crave Factor50 automatically. A sudden sharp pain in his upper incisors made him hiss, tenderly sticking his index finger in his mouth and searching for the sore tooth. Except he didn’t find a _sore_ tooth, exactly, What he did find however, were two prominent points sticking from his canines. And then he was alert- eyes wide and frightened as he scrambled up, his back sliding on the enamel surface of the tub. He was fully clothed and dry, all except his hair which was a tangled damp mess hanging in his eyes. Now that- his hair- wasn’t surprising. That could easily be sweat. As for waking up slumped in a bathtub, lying on a bed of empty beer cans and bottles? Jughead pulled himself up and sat on his knees and tried hard not to think about the burning sensation on his neck and back. He yanked the shower curtain aside and stood up, stretching with a yawn. That hurt too. His whole body felt like he’d just ran four marathons. Phone. He tried both of his jeans pockets, coming up empty, and he chewed on his lip, irritably. FP had finally gotten him a decent phone – an iPhone 5S. It was a hand-me-down, but it was one of Jughead’s most prized possessions. He had everything on that damn thing.

 Jughead managed to pull himself out of the bath and set both bare feet onto the icy tiles, his legs wavering as he attempted to walk over to the window. He grabbed hold of the curtain and yanked it back across, obstructing the sunlight streaming through, which was starting to agitate him. He felt gooseflesh prickle across his arms and neck. How could he feel ice cold, yet be so sensitive to the sun?

 He ended up sitting on the edge of the bath, letting his legs dangle. He ran a hand through his hair and winced when he dared look back at the window. At the rays of light peeping in through the curtains. There was a party. He said mentally. And when he looked around the bathroom once more, it clicked. How had he missed it? The expensive silk curtains, the bathtub carved into a Jacuzzi type set up – all the creepy little statues lining the window sill. He got to his feet then, nearly tripping over himself again. He was in Cheryl Blossom’s bathroom. Jughead almost laughed, if it wasn’t so damn painful to even move his neck. He had passed out in Cheryl Fucking Blossom’s bathtub.

He figured Archie and the others would most likely be downstairs, all having a laugh at him, Jughead Jones, who had gotten completely wasted and passed out in Cheryl’s fucking bath. Jughead groaned at the thought, rubbing his sore head. His throat was parched. Damn, he needed a drink. He eyed the taps at the edge of the bath greedily for a second, before shaking his head. No, god dammit. He would go downstairs where they all were, and he’d pour himself a cup of coffee- or maybe four- because his head would _not_ stop banging, and then he’d grab Archie and whoever else he had came with, and make his escape. Jughead’s memory was a blank, but he did vaguely remember Cheryl Blossom approaching him, Archie, Betty and Veronica after school and asking if they wanted to come to-

“A sundown party.” He muttered his own words from the night prior. Except this time there was no question mark in his tone. It turned out a ‘Sundown Party’ was pretty much a house-party, hosted by Cheryl herself, at her mansion, where all the doors would be locked at sunset, and reopened at dawn. Jughead squinted painfully at the window. He was pretty sure it was _past_ dawn. The sun looked pretty high in the sky. Maybe mid-afternoon?

Had they just left him in the tub and not woken him up? Jughead got up and made his over to the door, grabbing the door knob and twisting. Except it wouldn’t budge. He tried it again more forcefully. “Cheryl?” he hissed. “Hey, let me out!” then he was slamming his hands on the mahogany wood, raking his fingers down the pine. “Hey!” none of this made sense. It was – what? Mid afternoon? Where was everybody? Why was he locked in?!

“Cheryl Blossom, I swear to fucking god!” he yelled, and then yanked the doorknob more forcefully. This time there was a loud click and _pop!_ and the door flew open, revealing the Blossom’s long gothic hallway to Jughead’s surprise.  And when he looked down, he found himself clenching a small ball of metal in his fist. His head swam. The doorknob? Had he just yanked it off?

Before he knew what he was doing, he was checking for any faults with the door, any screws loose or if someone had already caused damage. But the only damage seemed to be what he had done. He bent over, inspecting the door, where the doorknob had been and noticing a chunky hole in the door, jagged edges and all. Jughead straightened up, a sick feeling in his stomach along with something else he couldn’t muster. He definitely didn’t normally have the strength to do that.

He ended up making his way downstairs, stepping over empty bottles and cans strewn everywhere. “Cheryl?!” he cupped his mouth, yelling her name. It was her damn house and she better have answers. As Jughead made his way down the fancy staircase, he couldn’t help noticing all the curtains were drawn on every single window. The smell of stale beer made him feel nauseous. When he was downstairs, the first thing he noticed was the smell. But it wasn’t beer. His nostrils flared, and his throat ached. Something metallic snapped him to awareness after he’d been wandering around aimlessly, unable to stop yawning. When he entered the kitchen, he raised his eyebrows at what he was pretty sure was vodka soaking up the countertops and had spilled over, soaking the tiled floor. There were sleeping bodies everywhere- on the sofa, on the floor and even under the table. But that was weird, because wasn’t it like 4pm? He found himself wandering over to the kettle and he filled it up with water and clattered around in the cupboard for a mug. He ended up choosing one that was bright red with the word B A S I C B I T C H in bright yellow etched across the ceramic.

Jughead was digging around in the fridge for milk, when he noticed something that snapped his attention back. It was a familiar slender white wrist lying limp on the floor, and his head span. Because he _knew_ that wrist. He noticed the colourful bracelets she had gone about to no end. The girl had made sure she told him what every bracelet meant, how the yellow one meant luck and the purple ones were supposed to bring romance.  She had picked them up online for a decent price and would _not_ stop going on about them yesterday at lunch. Jughead vaguely remembered Archie and Betty in the lunch queue, so he’d been left to Veronica Lodge’s mercy. Or at least her mouth.

He remembered the intense heat as it soaked his skin as he had sprawled out on one of many picnic benches in the school yard.  “Look at this one!” Veronica Lodge had held a bracelet  between her fingertips and shoved it in his face. He had only rolled his eyes, his gaze momentarily snapping to where she dangled the sturdy ring of metal in front of him. “This one keeps me from danger.”

 “Mmm.” He had been leant back, letting his head tip lazily as he grinned up at the sun. Cloud-watching. He’d been making the most of it. Before Betty had gone to grab lunch with Archie, the two of them had been cloud-watching. Her head of sunshine hair resting in his lap.

“It’s not even cloudy!” Archie had laughed through a mouthful of tuna melt. Jughead had known that. It was just an excuse to have his girlfriend’s head nestled in his lap. The sun had felt so damn good, washing him in sweet sunlight that ignited everything inside him. His attitude, his outlook on life. He had even told Archie he loved him like a brother. The sun had been so bright, so tempting and beautiful as it glinted against Betty’s Cooper’s strict ponytail. The sun had made him feel so happy, it had practically turned him into a drunken fool.

 Though now, the thought made him sick. His skin prickled with heat at the thought of the sun searing his skin, burning his flesh from his bones and-

 Jughead abandoned his search for milk and slowly edged his way to where he only spied her wrist. Of course belonging to Veronica Lodge, one of his close friends. Well, ever since she had started dating his best friend as well as befriending his now-girlfriend.

Though the closer he got, the smell that had hung in the air as he entered the kitchen- it was stronger, so much stronger as he neared Veronica. He found her lying against one of the kitchen cabinets, her head tipped back, sleek black hair brushing her shoulders. She was still wearing the dress from last night. Except- that’s where any resemblances from the foggy memories of last night- ended. Jughead stumbled back, his head spinning, that funny feeling returning to his stomach. His jaw ached and he had to cover his mouth when something sharp protruded through his gums.

Veronica. She was dead. At least that’s what he thought. The girl _looked_ asleep, but the closer he got as he now kneeled in front of her, he started to notice little things. Like how pale she was, how her jawbone seemed almost perfectly sculpted, her lips pale were parted and perfect. Except her ghostly face was a mess. Her eyes, which were shut almost peacefully, were smeared with the unmistakable raven splash of eyeliner. It decorated around the girl’s eyes as if she herself had taken her hand and swiped repeatedly at tearful eyes. Veronica Lodge had never looked more beautiful...

 _No._ Jughead found himself moving, almost in slow-motion, towards the girl. _Beautiful wasn’t the word he was looking for_. He wasn’t looking at her face anymore. His nostrils tingled. God dammit. He couldn’t stop himself moving closer, the smell suddenly overwhelming his senses- every intuition he had. But when he saw it,  when he saw his friend’s neck, the bloody bite mark that had ripped a chunk from her jugular staining her pale skin scarlet- there were still dark rivulets dried as they had slowly seeped down her sculpted skin and stained the collar of her white strapless dress.

Jughead sprang backwards with a yell, which to his surprise, curled in both his throat and mouth. The yell became an animalistic shriek and his gums ached as once again, two sharp incisors poked from his mouth. They felt wrong, scraping his bottom lip. But at the same time... they felt _right_.

No. He slammed a hand over his mouth and nose, blocking the fangs, which seemed to have a mind of their own. Jughead scrambled to his knees and stared. Because he was pretty sure he was seeing things. He shuffled backwards, because he was pretty sure he was also _feeling_ things.

The sight of Veronica Lodge’s neck. It should have sickened him. It did. His stomach churned and his head swam sickeningly, but there was something else. Jughead stumbled to his feet, purposely turning away from Veronica’s body. He was breathing heavily. He was going to throw up. Jughead found himself skipping and leaping over sleeping bodies as he dived to the sink and ducked his head under the faucet, gripping onto the marble counter. _This isn’t happening_. He told himself. He bent over, tried to retch, but nothing happened. What _did_ happen, through, was his mouth suddenly exploding with pain. Jughead bit back a cry, his eyes filling with tears. The pain only lasted a few seconds, before he felt a sudden _growth_ in his upper incisors.

Jughead’s head was swimming with confusion. Thoughts were clinging to him, trying to force their way into his scratchy throat. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t speak, because when he finally found his reflection after moving around, reaching out to wipe the faucet because maybe it was dirty. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t see himself. But whatever phenomena had struck him, it dispersed quickly. When he was really starting to panic, his reflection materialised in the metal. Except the boy in the glass, oh god, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. It was bad enough that his reflection only seemed to be a reflection of itself. It was like staring into a murky river.

The boy in the reflection was him. There was no doubt about that. But it was all...wrong. His skin was pale, almost white as a sheet. His lips were a ruby red, his jaw line chiselled, as if someone had completely remodelled his face as he slept. He winced when his jaw ached once again, and found himself widening his mouth in the reflection of the faucet. At first there was nothing. His teeth looked the same as they always did when he bothered baring them in the bathroom mirror after brushing them.

But then he looked closer- his breath catching in his throat. Oh god. He shakily slipped his index finger across the two sharp spikes just hidden on top of his usual dentitions. Veronica’s neck, the smell of it, snaked into his nostrils and he watched as the very thought of the blood running down her skin, hot and fresh and savoury running down his throat... Jughead staggered back when the two prongs hidden at the top of his mouth, suddenly sprang without warning. He felt all logic escape his mind, then. He then found himself dropping to his knees and shuffling on his hands and knees towards Veronica, his teeth aching with the urges spiking through him. God, just one...just one damn bite...

He’d limit himself to one bite. Yes. That seemed fair. Then Archie might _not_ kill him. Jughead was at her side in what felt seconds, and his teeth were bared, his eyes squeezed shut against the pleasure that was running through him. Oh god, the smell. It was euphoric. He bent over, inches away from her neck. Where the pincers of his newly pointed fangs would pierce her skin and he’d drink deep- forget one bite. He would drink deep until the girl was a sack of skin and muscle at his feet-

The sudden voice shattered whatever the hell he had been in, and one conscious thought amongst the many, many ones crying out that he was _hungry_ and he _needed a fucking drink_.

But the screechy cry, which only could belong to one person; Cheryl Blossom, snapped him out of it. 

“Jughead Jones,” her smooth voice made him jump, and he sprung up, nearly crashing into the ceiling, when he realized- oh? He could do that. Something new twisted inside him and was able to control his limbs perfectly. He landed on his toes delicately. “What...” his mouth was muffled as the fangs seemed to completely take over his speech. Cheryl Blossom stood in front of him in a white spotless dress which reached her knees. She was barefoot, her feet slick with dirt and grass, her legs splotched with a mixture of scarlet and what looked like grass stains. Her dress somehow remained untouched. Jughead’s head swirled with questions. He wanted to throw up, he also kinda wanted to bite into Cheryl’s neck. He eyed her, his teeth aching. Oh god, not now! He slammed a hand over his mouth and to his surprise, she giggled. He wasn’t sure if it was his fucked up senses, but Cheryl Blossom looked breath-taking. She peered at him through her fringe of rich, deep red hair.

“Wow,” her ruby-red lips stretched into a grin of- Jughead squinted- human teeth. There were no sharp points, no fangs springing from her lips. She cocked her head, clicking her tongue.

“Who would have guessed it?” Cheryl smirked. “You actually make a good Halfie.”

Jughead’s nostrils flared and he bared his teeth under his palm, and panicked again, squeezing his hand harder into his open mouth.  Whatever had control of his mouth was searching for Cheryl’s scent, but found it was faint. He caught a whiff of- decay. He could feel it curling in his teeth. “What the hell is going on?!” he demanded, still refusing to uncover his mouth. If he did, he was 1000% sure he would lunge at Cheryl and rip out her jugular. But the girl didn’t seem scared or wary.

“Jughead.” Cheryl said calmly, like she was speaking to a little kid. “Would you please chill for like, just a second? I have dinner.” She seemed to reconsider that. “Well, I have Veronica’s dinner. You my friend, will have to hunt your own.”

Her words didn't register in his mind. He was sure he was hearing things.

Veronica was DEAD. He didn't think she could be any less dead!

“Cheryl.” Jughead tried incredibly hard to keep his patience, but _that_ rotten stink, whatever the _hell_ it was, really wasn’t helping.  He sucked in a breath between his teeth, but then he finally realized the _thing_ that Cheryl was dangling in front of him. How had he not seen it?! Had he been too distracted by her- by her...he found his gaze sliding back to her pale slender neck. Something grumbled at the back of his throat and he let out a squeak. Cheryl only laughed.

 “Easy, Tiger.” The _thing_ that the girl was holding, was in fact a dead cat. Jughead gagged at the thing and she waved it teasingly. The cat had been decapitated, by, he was afraid of _what_. She dangled it from its bushy tail, its fur was matted with blood and Jughead was sure he caught a glimpse of a sliver of receding guts. “This is Mr. Snuffles.” Cheryl smiled at him, and he stared at her, his hand still covering his mouth. But the ache in his jaw and teeth was worsening. His gaze slipped from Cheryl’s hopeful smile, to the dead ball of fur. His stomach grumbled. No, dammit, that was his throat.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was lunging at Mr Snuffles, scratching at the air where he or she dangled limply,  as if he himself was an actual feline.  Cheryl yanked the dead cat away from his grasp and he found himself _moaning_ for it. Which made her laugh harder. When he finally gave up and was seriously considering ripping Cheryl’s throat out and draining _her_ instead of Mr Snuffles, Cheryl dropped a bombshell. Which once again ripped him from his predatory stupor.

“Jesus, Jughead Jones.” She giggled. “And to say my mother and her witchy friend left you in the tub to bleed out. They didn’t think you’d make it!” the girl laughed casually, as if he had just told her a funny joke, and then her gaze was on Veronica, still slumped into the cabinet...still dead.

“Hm,” she murmured, cocking her head. “I thought Veronica would be the first one awake.” She clicked her tongue once again. “Oh well!” she held up the dead cat with a smile. “Maybe your friends are awake.”

Cheryl’s previous words seemed to hit him, ripping through whatever had taken over, and finally the human side of him, the rational part, was back. “What?!” he yelled, but Cheryl was ignoring him, making her way across the living room, daintily stepping over fallen bodies. Jughead’s stomach twisted. They weren't sleeping, not like he originally thought. They were like Veronica. They were dead. Something inside him clenched tight. Or maybe, maybe they weren't as dead as he thought.

“Wait,” his voice was a startled hiss, then a yell. “Cheryl, wait!” he was stumbling after her, his chest tightening. He was following her slow descent up the stairs. “Cheryl, please tell me what’s going on!” his tone was pleading, his stomach twisting when he thought about Betty- about Archie. They had come to the party with him and Veronica, of course they had. Cheryl continued to ignore him, as if he was a ghost, and entered one of the master bedrooms on the second floor. He followed her warily, his nostrils flaring automatically. Searching out a threat. He could smell it. He wasn't entirely sure _what_ he could smell, exactly. But his senses were tingling. Jughead winced when he felt a familiar growth from the top of his mouth. Shit. He quickly gagged himself.

“Good afternoon!” Cheryl’s voice was sugar sweet. Jughead stepped into the bedroom behind the girl, stepping from behind her. Cheryl was waving the dead cat at two slumped figures on a king size bed. The room was huge- it was bigger than his father’s trailer, his whole home. The walls were a baby-pink colour, a splash of innocence. Jughead stared.

Cheryl Blossom’s childhood bedroom was no longer innocent. And that, for some reason, brought back a lingering memory. He saw himself- in glimpses, like shards of glass. He saw himself in a line of white. He himself was wearing a bleached white shirt, the one he had woken up in.  Everyone was. He had turned to his right, and then his left. Archie Andrews on his right. He looked curious, his brown eyes wide and alert. He too wore a white shirt.  His red hair contrasted the shirt perfectly, and Jughead had made some crude joke about maybe _wanting_ the Andrew’s boy.

Betty Cooper had slapped him. Then hit a giggling Archie. Elizabeth Cooper. His girlfriend. She was on his left. She had been wearing a long white dress which just touched her ankles. She laughed at him, her sunshine hair cascading down her back. Betty Cooper looked beautiful.

Jughead snapped out of it, out of the memory that had hit him out of nowhere. The party. His head swam. He saw himself looking up curiously, his expression matching Archie’s as Cheryl Blossom had approached them that lunchtime. Betty had straightened up, lifting her head from his lap.

_“A sundown party?” He had said- scepticism in his tone. “Cheryl, we don’t live in a pretentious YA novel.” That had gotten a chuckle from Archie._

_“Come or don’t come, Sad-Breakfast-Club,” Cheryl said, flipping her hair, as if to prove she didn’t care they weren’t interested. “It’s at Six O’ clock.” She smirked at the four of them. “We lock the door at ten past.” Then she was pivoting on her heel, followed by her minions. “Oh!” she turned once again to face them. “The dress- code is white.” She’d smirked at Archie causing the red-head to blush. Veronica kicked him under the table. “I’m sure you can find something, Archie.”_

The memory fizzled out, and Jughead found himself staring, oh god, he couldn’t stop staring. There was a king-size bed surrounded by baby-pink walls and princess wallpaper. Jughead took a shaky step forwards, his senses prickling. His fingers twitched by his sides and his jaw ached. Tied back to back on the bed were his childhood best friend’s. Now his girlfriend and practical brother. He swallowed thickly, he could feel the points of his teeth digging into his lower-lip. Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper were knelt on Cheryl Blossom’s childhood Peppa Pig bedsheets. Their arms were harshly pinned behind their backs by ductape. Jughead opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. They couldn’t answer him anyway. Both Archie and Betty had been heavily gagged with layers and layers of tape.

 They were wearing their clothes from last night, except Archie’s shirt was shredded and stained scarlet. It hung off of his bare chest. Betty was still wearing her dress, but like Archie, it too was sliced and cut in random places. Jughead’s gut twisted when he realized her chest was partly exposed through the torn and ragged material which was dyed a dark red.

“Mmmphm.” Archie was wide-awake and alert- his eyes dead-set on Jughead. He started to muffle and struggle desperately. He was trying to get away, trying to press himself into Betty.

The two of them were staring at him as he neared, and once Archie realized what he was about to do, the red-head’s eyes were widening with fear and he was shaking his head violently, muffling under the tape covering his lips.

 “Mpph!” Archie was mumbling. Betty joined in and started to struggle, attempting to throw herself forwards. But the tape was strong around her bound hands. It looked like Cheryl had used more than one roll of tape to secure the two of them. “I wouldn’t do that.” Cheryl was suddenly behind him, breathing down his neck. But it was human. He felt her breath, sensed her heartbeat. “Get away from me,” he growled, pushing past her. But Cheryl grabbed the collar of his jacket and he almost laughed. Her grip was pathetic. He could break her hand with one god damn-

No. He shook his head. He wouldn't hurt Cheryl. “Cheryl, Please.” He whimpered. The girl sighed, rolling her eyes. “Do you _want_ to hurt them, Jughead?” she murmured.

No. He shook his head. No he didn't. He stopped his slow advance towards the two struggling teens. “Why did you..?” he was nearly laughing in relief. “They’re not like me!” he ignored Archie’s muffled yelling as the redhead shook his head so violently he was sure his friend had bruised his brain. “Why did you tie them up?” Jughead ignored Betty as she joined in with Archie. The two of them seemed to be going to a great effort to try and get away. Jughead knelt in front of them and fixed them with a small smile.

“It’s okay!” he was nearly euphoric with the relief of Archie and Betty not being like him. But something was bugging him. His nostrils flared, but all he smelt was- Cheryl. Her scent was suddenly strong, no longer overpowered by the vicious scent of Mr Snuffles. But he couldn't smell anything else. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he murmured, reaching over to tear the lump of tape from Archie’s mouth. The boy let out a cry of alarm and suddenly Cheryl was at his side. “Jughead...”

Jughead ignored her and ripped the tape from Archie’s mouth. For a second, he thought the boy was going to kiss him. “Jughead!” Cheryl seemed too scared to grab him. Archie Andrews didn’t kiss him, no. But he did let out a yell. “You idiot!” Archie cried, and before Jughead could reply, the boy was lunging at him, baring his teeth with a frustrated snarl. “Do you not understand the meaning of _no_?!”

Archie’s teeth weren't like his. They weren't human either. Instead of two simple fangs protruding from his gums like Jughead’s baby points, Archie had vicious incisors that curled dangerously, capable of ripping Jughead’s head off. "Dammit, get away from me," the redhead groaned, jerking himself away from Jughead. But despite his efforts, the boy's eyes still flashed, his teeth baring once again. "Jug, you smell amazing," Archie's eyes were no longer their warm chocolate brown, the eyes that Jughead had grown up loving. They were dilated orange. 

“They’re not like you.” Cheryl murmured. He could hear her, but all he could see were Betty Cooper, Elizabeth Cooper, his girlfriend’s, striking amber eyes as the girl peered at him. Her gaze begged him to understand.  Archie wouldn’t look him in the eye.  “You’re a Halfie,” Cheryl explained, and then pointed to Archie and Betty. “They’re full vampire’s. They, unlike you, completed the transformation.”

Oh, Jughead thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat. So he _had_ woken up dead.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I hope you enjoyed this :P If you'd like, leave kudos :) ah, please tell me what you think If you'd like more :)


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